A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update……. I haven't really been in a writing mood.
I know, I know. That's no excuse to the poor, blue people who have been holding their breath for me to update (HEY BLUE PEOPLE!), but it's the best I've got.
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Chapter 3
Sam stared into the mirror. She opened her eyes wide, batted her lashes, and tried on a super-model pout.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who's the fairest one of all?" She asked in a sexy (or so she thought: it really sounded like laryngitis), deep-throated voice.
Sam laughed. She was having a good time. Ephram had been a little distant once that Amy chick left, but he quickly grew out of that.
She studied her features. Small, delicate nose, freckled like a robin's egg. Bright red hair that often earned her the nickname Alanna the Lioness. Green eyes. She had a pale complexion, much like her precious Moat's. Kind of tall. Big hips, not much chest. She liked it that way. She always felt sorry for the girls that got hit in the face when they were running in PE.
Talk about uncomfortable.
She quickly compared herself to the Poor Little Bitch Girl, Amy Abbott.
Amy's too serious, Sam thought, She could use a few highlights. Maybe a piercing. Yeah, a nose piercing would look baby-grand on her.
She laughed again.
She knew Amy would never let her near her. She hadn't spent much time with her, but it was apparent enough that the blonde didn't take kindly to her. She sighed. It was too bad.
Sam would have enjoyed helping Amy to loosen up.
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Amy stared into a mirror. Her hand flitted up and tucked a few imaginary strands of hair behind her ear, and then once more. Her eyes grazed her reflection, taking in every square inch. Her long blonde hair, the hair that had taken her forever to grow, was streaked with brown and evenly disposited on both of her shoulders.
Her eyes were nothing special. Tallish. There was nothing remarkable about her figure, except that she was a bit too tall and bony to have a ballerina's build.
She sighed, and turned from her mirror to concentrate on the pile of stray papers on her bed.
She picked up a pencil and stared blankly at the cold sheet of paper in front of her.
It was no use.
Her brain wasn't working.
It just kept gong back to the redhead. It was like her brain was a computer program, and it was looping. Why, what, who, when, how, how, how, how, how…………………..
She saw in her mind's eye the pretty redhead. Sam.
And like the oblivious, idiotic, moronic, and every other word that ends in -ic that she was, she wondered again why she didn't like her.
She reminded me then of what the first caveman must have looked like, before speech, but not sound.
Sitting on a hard rock, eyes and mouth equally wide, going, "DUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
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Ephram was staring in the mirror. He fingered the now-nearly-healed hole in his nose, the one where he used to wear a silver stud.
He turned away from the mirror, kind of smiling. Smiling an ironic smile. Next thing you know, I'll be reciting Snow White, he thought.
He walked into the living room and saw the piano that was seated at the wall.
Why not? he thought, I need a little peace…
So he sat down at the piano, closed his eyes, and played a Mozart piece he had learned by heart.
It was beautiful. It always was.
He didn't listen, though. His ears were a highway for the music. He could almost feel the music notes flying through them as his entire world became one of music and sound.
He didn't listen.
No one listened.
No one…. But Sam.
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